It's Been A While
by AceOfSpades22
Summary: Lars left Iain without a trace over a year ago, leaving Iain to go about his life in a deep state of depression, but when one night at the bar he runs into a certain Dutchman he is completely shocked. Can he find it in himself to forgive the man who abandoned him without a word, or was something else going on? Warning: Sex


**Well hey there guys! It's been a while! So this is something new~ A pairing that mein bruder and I feel the need to expose. It is beautiful if not a little angsty, but as much as Antonio and Arthur love each other in my other fics, Lars and Iain love each other equally as much. A few words of caution, there is brief violence, swearing, and sex in this longer than average one-shot, but it is all worth while. Some things to note that might make it a bit easier to read:**

**Lars-The Netherlands**

**Iain-Scotland**

**Yeh-You**

**Ah-I**

**D'Nae-Don't**

**Nae-No, Not**

**Aye-Yes, Yea**

**One more brief note, there is a referance to a song covered by Staind called It's Been A While, where the title originates from. Also, there are snips of lyrics from the song. All song credit goes to Staind. I also can not take credit for the beauty of Hetalia.**

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_Hands caressed his hips, strong, calloused and familiar. They both were so tight, so close, that their breath didn't come or go without sound. A deep, desperate rumble rolled through the man with the familiar hands, sweat dripping from his hair, once spiked up perfectly but wilting from the heated, rough passion in the room. Good God he was moving so hard and fast... A loud, low moan fell from someone's lips, the one on the receiving end. "Damn it da- mmmnnnngh ah can't... Lars!_

Iain woke with a start, his own cry ringing in his ears, not from reluctance to forget the hot, passionate sex he had been dreaming up, but instead of the man that the feelings spun from. He tried to tell himself the way his heart lay mangled in his chest and the way his eyes pricked ever so slightly with tears was only because of pent up frustrations, not from longing for his Dutchman. Only... He wasn't his Dutchman anymore. Hadn't been for over a year; not since the pineapple headed cunt up and left without a trace. He tried to tell himself he hated the man, tried to tell himself his abandonment didn't hurt, but on evenings where he woke up from dreams of the spiky haired blonde, it was too hard to lie to himself.

On evenings like this he all but dropped his pretending and laid in bed miserably. "Yer actin' like a wee little girl." He taunted himself, not finding the energy to get up from the bed. He refused the right for his eyes to build enough pressure for tears, but his misery was bad enough to leave him curled up, blankets over his head and groping blindly for his cigarettes on the bedside table. It didn't matter that the blankets were over his head and smoking would cut what little oxygen was under the cloth in half, he smoked his cigarette anyway and only when he started feeling light headed did he pull just a corner up to allow the air in and the smoke out, still staying tucked safely under the blankets. Before he even realized it, he had chain smoked through a handful of cigarettes, the butts in a neat pile on the bedside table.

It was when his alarm went off, telling him it was actually time to get his sorry ass out of bed and get ready to go to work (and that in it's self was a joke. Getting ready to go be a bouncer at a bar really wasn't something he needed to "get ready" for.) that he uncovered his head and moved out of bed. His pale torso soon covered with goose bumps as cool air swirled around his bare skin, and the cloth of his bright cerulean boxers, having bunched up oddly in his sleep, fell into the proper place around his legs as he stumbled to the bathroom. Upon entrance, he fixed his dull green eyes on the reflection in the mirror, taking in his bed tussled, flaming mop of hair on his head as it stuck up in aimless directions. With a sigh he ran his fingers through his unruly hair fruitlessly before giving up, stripping himself of his boxers and stepping into the shower.

The warm water hit his depression tensed muscles, rolling across his bare skin in bitingly hot rivulets. He braced both of his hands against the wall of the shower, facing the faucets and locking his arms as he leaned there, head hanging between his arms as the water rocketed along his skin, following the curvature of his hunched back. He watched droplets of water cascade from his fiery locks, looking a deep shade of crimson with all the water locking between the individual keratin coated strands. He hung his head further as the water logged locks of hair reminded him of one of many showers shared with... He snapped his eyes open, not even having realized he had closed them, his mind begging him to remember as his heart screamed at him to forget.

"God damn it! Yeh fucking bastard, whit the hell did yeh do to me!" He snarled, slamming his fists into the wall of the shower before returning to his previous position, focusing on the warm spray running along his back. He reached down to the temperature control and turned it warmer to the point it stung when it hit his skin. When the pain in his skin didn't draw his attention away he hung his head again, watching water as it dribbled from the corners of the small, silver, ornate Celtic cross that hung from his neck on a simple black cord. He studied the all too familiar pattern on the cross, succeeding in distracting himself enough to relax, leaving him sore muscled from them being locked tensely for so long.

It took him a good forty minutes in the shower, only bothering to wash up in the last five. He stood another ten in the steamy bathroom, not even bothering to wrap up in a towel after he dried off and moved into the bedroom. There was no point seeing as he was alone. Moving around the room with music blaring loud enough the bass vibrated deep inside his chest, he threw a clean pair of boxers, these ones blue and black checkered, and jeans onto his bed. Staind sung their song to him, one of the few American bands he approved of for reasons unknown to even him as he pulled on the clothing, not yet wanting to dig for a shirt. He still had twenty minutes before he had to leave and, where usually he got up early to eat before he left, he really didn't feel hungry enough to eat. Instead he returned to his bed, lighting a cigarette and laying on his back, not caring if his hair got the sheets wet. He smoked his cancer stick, feeling numb to the world, a very comfortable state for the Scotsman.

Half way through his cigarette, one of his favorite songs on the CD came on. He closed his eyes, the cigarette forgotten in his hand and sang along with every word, growing louder at his favorite lines or lines that particularly struck a chord in his heart. "And everything I can't remember. This fucked up past it all may seem. And consequences that are rendered. I stretched myself beyond my means... And it's been awhile, since I could say, that I wasn't addicted and... It's been awhile, since I could say I loved myself as well and... It's been awhile since I've gone and fucked things up just like I always do... And it's been awhile.. but all that shit seems to disappear when I'm with you..." He gritted out, allowing emotion to envelop him through the lyrics that oh so painfully reminded him of Lars. He just sung his pain through the words to the song, shivering at the odd feeling of release he got from doing so. It hurt, rubbing his insides raw until he felt like he was broken and bleeding inside, but at the same time it was comforting being able to let go of some of the pain in his heart.

He listened to the song a second time, singing all the words again, feeling more in control this time. Not better, just patched up with a band aid of a whiney, emotional voice, dark, shattering lyrics, smooth, heavy instrumentals and a deep, throbbing bass. Another day he could stay in one piece. Another day he could put a smirk on his face. Another day he could play off the betrayal and pain in his heart. A small, sad smile graced his pale lip, eyes closed as he sung his favorite line. "And it's been awhile, since I could, look at myself straight... And it's been awhile since I said I'm sorry. And it's been a while since I've seen the way, that candles light your face... And it's been a while, but I can still remember just the way you taste..." A sigh fell from his lips as he smoked what was left of his cigarette, not feeling better, but feeling stronger.

As the last notes of the song faded away he looked over at the clock and groaned. He was supposed to have been at work ten minutes ago. Figuring he was already late, he got to his feet slowly and went about finding a shirt to wear. He didn't really look at what he grabbed, merely seeing black and going for it. He did, however, pull the too big, tan coat from his bed and slip it on. It didn't matter that it wasn't particularly cold, he wanted to wear it anyway. By the time he was pulling on his boots, he was a full half hour late and lighting his fifth, or maybe it was his sixth, cigarette of the night. Once again figuring he was already late, he decided it wouldn't hurt to walk the quarter mile to the bar he had the misfortune to work at.

Reaching the bar nearly forty five minutes late, a frowning spiky haired blonde, not the one he so desperately wanted to see, was waiting for him, glaring furiously as he approached with arms across his chest. Burly, Danish, and not entirely bright, Matthias looked pissed off that he was late... Again. "Aye... Ah know. 'Yer late Iain.' Ah overslept. 'Find a better excuse next time.. Nae... D'nae let it happen again or ah'll have to fire yeh and ah like yeh too much to do that.' Ah won't be late next time." He recited with a grumbled, now on cigarette number eight.

No matter how hard the bartender tried not to be amused, he saw the gleam in the Dane's blue eyes as Iain told him their conversation word for word. "Alright alright. It's pointless to tell you this because I know damn well you won't listen, but after that one don't smoke on the job." Matthias relented with a shake of his head and a sigh as he disappeared back inside, leaving Iain to his own devices as he guarded the entrance to the bar, listening to the cacophony of angry shouts, booming laughter, slurred speech, seductive, drunken purrs, and calls for more alcohol.

"Damn straight ah won't fuckin' listen." Iain grumbled, looking as two females flashed their IDs at him with pretty little smiles and disappeared inside, shaking their asses the entire way. Had he been in a better mood he might have flirted with them just for fun, something else Matthias had reason to chastise him about, but honestly, and he was being very good at being honest with himself that evening, the only ass he wanted to see wasn't bulbous, shaking teasingly, or feminine in any way, shape or form.

He leaned up against the wall beside the door, looking up at the sky as the first stars began to shine faintly in the inky night sky. He had spent so many nights pressed roughly into the walls of the bar. Breaks, slow nights, surprise attacks. Lips occupied, body pressed tight against a cold brick wall, held there by a strong, warm chest. Hands would find their way to his hips to pull him closer, while his fingers twisted in locks of blonde hair. Iain swallowed back his longing and betrayal as it swelled in his throat at the sound of a skirmish making it's self known as two, challenging roars of fury. "Shit... Ah d'nae want to have to deal with this shit..." He snarled to himself, ducking inside the bar to break up the commotion before things got too violent. As his eyes adjusted to the gloomy, smoke filled interior of the bar, he sought out two men as they shouted furiously at each other. One, was a regular, a feisty Italian, clearly drunk and foul mouthed as he screamed at an all too familiar green eyed blonde, this one still not the blonde he wanted. The object of the argument, his pain in the ass, soon to be brother-in-law, was talking in rapid Spanish at the blonde's side, trying to diffuse the raging Englishman.

"Arturo... Arturo he isn't worth it. Amor he's not worth it... My heart belongs to you alone." The Spaniard, a normally bubbly, happy-go-lucky man named Antonio, mumbled softly, forgoing the Spanish for English when Iain approached. He couldn't understand the furious remark that the Italian shot back with, but at his brother's howl of rage and the immediate response of tanned arms snaking around a skinny little waist to hold him back, Iain could only guess it had been something taunting. He stood just behind the Italian, smirking when the smaller man made the mistake of turning around as two pairs of green eyes widened at his appearance.

"Yeh miss me yeh little shit?" Iain smirked, a hand reaching out to close around the suddenly fearful Italian's throat as he easily lifted him off his feet. "Ah thought ah told yeh not to come back." A flinch from the Italian. Iain just laughed humorlessly, sent a smirk towards his smug looking little brother and proceeded back to the front of the bar, hearing Matthias roar with laughter as he went. Feigning a gentlemanly quality as a group of people walked through the door, when really he just wanted to squeeze the Italian's neck a little longer, he walked through the door and threw the man to the ground outside. "Go home Romano. Yeh need to find a better place to drink yeh slimy son of a bitch." He snarled, standing menacingly in front of the door to bar the Italian entrance should he try to push past him. Instead he was met with a furious spew of foreign before the man stalked to his car, recklessly pulling from his spot into the back end of a truck and spinning out as he drove away. "Little shit."

Looks like it was time for another cigarette. He fished for his pack in the jacket pocket, frowning when he felt the cancer sticks rattling too loosely against the inside of the box when he froze, heart stuttering to a stand still as a painfully familiar rumble of laughter sounded to his left. A man leaned against the wall of the building beside the bar, completely hidden by shadows; Only the glow of a cigarette between what was presumed to be his mouth and the chuckle giving away the fact anyone was there at all. He couldn't believe his ears. He didn't _dare _to believe his ears, and yet a strangled, startled, choking gasp fell from his lips and the pack of cigarettes that had been in his hand fell to the ground. "Lars?!"

"Shit... Forget my laugh already sweet heart?" Lars smirked, pushing off of the wall and out of the shadows. His forest green eyes were dull with some unknown emotion as he looked at the gaping Scotsman. The Dutchman hadn't changed in the year he had been gone. He wore the same worn boots, and his favorite baggy brown cargo pants. A dark blue shirt covered his torso, along with a tan trench coat similar to the one Iain had around his much skinnier frame. The most memorable additions, his blue and white striped scarf, the scar above his eye and his hair spiked up, all present. Iain hated every single aspect of him. From the heart wrenching smirk on his face to the pipe he knew would be in the right front pocket of his trench coat. He hated him so much more than anything in the world.

"Whit the _fuck _do yeh want yeh damned pineapple head?! Yeh have no fucking right to try to talk to me after leaving like that. Yeh have _no fucking right_!" He thundered furiously, muscles coiling as Lars moved closer to him. The smirk on Lars' face faded in place of a hard look in his eyes and a snarl. "Offended yeh fuck? Sorry yeh thought ah'd take abandonment well!" That anger that flashed in the Dutchman's eyes only served to further fuel Iain's fury.

Lars stopped when he was a handful of feet from Iain, forest green eyes brightening with rage and the faintest traces of pain. "You have no God damn clue in what I went through. You don't have any fucking idea! Do you think I _wanted _to leave yo-" But he never got to finish his sentence because Iain was barreling into his side, forcing him to stumble back a few feet with a violent curse. He barely had enough time to block a kick to his ribs, still managing to catch a fist against his chest.

At first Iain just shouted his fury and betrayal, his hatred and his pain as he crafted a series of jabs and kicks and punches at the Dutchman who was hard pressed to fend of each attack, but soon his shouts of voiceless fury turned into snarled words of bitter hatred. "D'nae fucking tell me ah don't know whit yeh went through! D'nae fucking try to lie to me, tellin' me yeh did nae mean it. Yeh fucking hurt me Lars. Yeh hurt me bad an' sorry, but ah'm nae about to forget it." He growled, driving his fist in Lars' exposed abdomen while the man was occupied in fending off blows to his sides and face, his facial expression one of grim, bittersweet satisfaction as the air whooshed from Lars' lungs. "Ah d'nae know if yeh never fucking realized, but ah loved yeh! Ah loved yeh so much that it physically hurt when yeh just... where gone." The anger died in Iain for a moment as his longing to be held close to the man enduring his pent of emotions made it's self know like an obnoxious thorn in his side.

"I didn't _want _to leave Iain! Listen to me for a m-"

"Ah will nae fucking listen!" Iain thundered, quick to remember his anger, though by that time the sound of his violence had brought out a handful of people including his little brother and the Spaniard, and his boss and friend, Matthias. To their credit, no one was stupid enough to try to get in the way. He let every single fiber of his being release his agonized, chaotic feelings this man brought in forms of violent bursts, all directed toward Lars, growing desperate when he wasn't able to land as many blows as he wanted as the Dutchman blocked his attacks. He just wanted Lars to feel his pain. He wanted to beat it into the blonde's very skin until he was sure Lars understood what he had done to him.

With a livid cry he attacked Lars with everything he had left, startled when a well placed fist crunched down on his Dutchman's collarbone with a sick crack. With the blow, Lars could feel pain shoot up his neck and the front of his chest, down into his shoulder, and shudder rolled through him. In Iain's shock, it was easy to sweep his legs from under him, and Lars' superior strength allowed him to easily pin the Scotsman to the ground. Glaring at the sizable crowd that had gathered, he allowed his livid, seething anger bubble into his voice. "If anyone is left by the time I count to fucking three I swear I'll fucking kill you all in your sleep!" He rumbled, satisfied when everybody but a familiar Dane either slipped away into the bar, hurried along down the street or shuffled to their car. "You will God damn listen to what I have to fucking say before you try to fucking interrupt me. Do you understand you damned cross dressing, fire crotch?"

Iain struggled bitterly under Lars' weight, but slowly the seriousness of the Dutchman's words cut at his heart, cracking his rage enough to nodded slowly, glaring daggers with brilliant jade eyes. "Ah'll do mah best. Yeh better nae piss me off if yeh want me to stay quite." He growled, still completely tensed up, but no longer writhing and thrashing.

Satisfied, Lars brought a hand up to his throbbing clavicle before beginning to speak, eyes already filling with a new found agony before he could even begin. "We were messed up with shit... And some of the God damn bastards threatened Bella for a dispute that wasn't my fault... She's my fucking little sister. I wasn't going to let any one of those God damn bastards touch her..." As Lars spoke in incomplete snips of thought, Iain slowly drew the pieces of the story together. The group of people they had interacted with had wanted Bella, so Lars took her away. Simple enough... "They were threatening some pretty fucked up shit... So I packed everything we needed up and left for Belgium that night... I promised her I'd stay until she was well established... Rolled in to town an hour ago... And came to find you..." He whispered, growing painfully quiet as his own pent up emotions flowed out through his words. "I didn't... I didn't just leave without saying good bye... You were just asleep when we stopped by... That's why you have that." He muttered sadly, gesturing to the tan coat Iain wore, despite the fact it was way too big for him. "I... Wanted to leave a piece of me behind in your life..."

Lars never was one to be show his love through words. He never had been one to be sweet. The admittance of him wanting to leave something behind for Iain sent a pang through the Scotsman's heart, making him hard pressed to stay angry. So... Lars hadn't left him because he was sick of him? Even if that was true... Why hadn't he told him? A wave of pain rolled through him, chasing away the worst of his fury and making it so he couldn't meet Lars' eyes without wanting to just break down. It took all he had to swallow down the hurt to keep it from his voice before he spoke. "Well yeh fucked up Lars... Ah d'nae care if yeh wanted to or not... Yeh should have at least fucking told me yeh were going when, oh ah d'nae... Was God damn awake?" His voice held vinegar as he spoke, bitter hatred welling in his throat, forming a hard, painful lump. "Ah wouldn't have kept yeh from going... Ah just... God Lars..." He rasped, closing his eyes with a frown.

Lars looked unhappy as Iain spoke, running his fingers through his spiked up hair. He knew when he left he was going to hurt Iain even more than he had hurt himself, but knowing about it and actually seeing it in his lover's eyes were completely different. "When I left... Did any of the people we'd smoke with come to you, asking if you'd seen me?" He asked quietly, brushing a few stray strands of fiery hair from Iain's face, tempted to just lean down and kiss him fiercely, but holding back to keep from offending the explosive Scotsman underneath him.

It took Iain a minute to think back that far, but when he did he nodded hesitantly, realizing a fair number of people asked him about Lars for a month. "Aye... more than once.. ah even showed them mah phone records to prove ah did nae know where yeh went. Never asked me about yer sister though... Just yeh. Whit does that have to do with yeh nae talking to me before yeh left?' He growled, more curious than truly irritated.

"They did leave you alone then..." Lars sighed, satisfied that his plan had worked. "I didn't tell you I was going because... I didn't want them to try to hurt you to figure out where we went... I did it to keep you safe... You and I both know what they did to people they wanted to know something from... Even if, if not especially because, I wasn't there to see you get beaten... I knew I had to do something to keep you safe from them with me not being there... I never wanted to hurt you." The words were enough. They were enough to answer the question of 'why?' and to chase away the hurt that consumed Iain's heart. For the first time since he had seen Lars that night, he felt love instead of animosity and hatred.

"Would yeh let me up? Ah'm nae going to attack yeh again..." Iain requested, getting to his feet and throwing himself at Lars as soon as the man was off of him. Instead of fighting him though, he slammed his lips against Lars' in a fierce, bruising kiss. He never was one to forgive for even the smallest of things... But he loved Lars just as much as he hated him, and would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't thrilled to see the man underneath his initial anger. How could he not be when he woke up with dreams of them together nearly every evening and when the smallest things like the walls of the bar, or a cigarette between his lips, would remind him of the blonde he clung to forcefully? "Yeh God damn fucking bastard... Ah should kill yeh for leaving me in the dark, even if it was to try an' save mah life." He muttered, feeling his heart, broken and all but dead for so long, mend it's self ever so slowly as achingly familiar arms wrapped around his waist without a moment's hesitation and lips found his again in an equally fierce kiss.

They continued this kiss, exchanging smoke tainted saliva and nipping at each others's lips, not caring how swollen and bruised the sensitive, sensual little mounds on their faces would be later, too involved in making up for the days and weeks and months of being apart. Even as their lungs screamed for oxygen and their heads spun dizzily, noses unable to suck in enough air with how fast their hearts were racing, they didn't dare to break apart. It wasn't until Iain had moved to wrap his arms around Lars' neck and tangle slender, pale finger in the hairs at the base of his skull did Lars break away, swearing in pain rather violently when Iain's forearm rested on his broken clavicle. "Shit fuck fuck fuck ok OW that hurt." He growled, reluctant to let go of the Scotsman even after previously dulled, forgotten pain exploded across the length of his collarbone.

Iain smirked at the reaction, even as concern sparked in his eyes, feeling a bit guilty for actually damaging the Dutchman. "Aw darlin' look at yeh, jumping about like a wee lamb. It's just a broken bone yeh pineapple head." Though despite his teasing, he drew closer to Lars again and ran soft, gentle fingers over the bone in question, earning a almost silent hiss of protest. At least it didn't feel like too bad of a break. "Need a doctor to take a look it it?"

Lars shook his head, completely unphased by Iain's teasing. "What's a doctor going to tell me that I don't already know? Not like they'd do much but brace it anyway. It's heal on it's own." He shrugged, wincing at the movement. "You'll have to be careful with me sweet heart, don't want to be breaking me any more than I already am with that desperate little mouth of yours." Of course, Lars' taunt lost all it's power when he pulled Iain close again before the Scotsman could retort and smashed their lips together.

This time Iain was sure to steer clear of Lars' injured side as they got back to their kissing, flipping off the still present, though all but forgotten Matthias when the Dane cleared his throat. He didn't care who the fuck anyone was. Not with the taste of Lars soaking into his taste buds and zinging across his lips. Not after having spent so long being alone. Neither one of them noticed when the Dane went back inside with a grumble, rolling his eyes at their display, nor did they notice the way people looked at them when they walked in and out of the bar.

In the back of his mind, Iain realized his shoulders were pressed back against the wall as they dizzily kissed each other. Reluctantly he ducked his head though, gasping for breath before he passed out. The movement didn't deter Lars, because soon the Dutchman's lips were roaming across the creamy, smooth expanse of his neck, nipping at long since abandoned sensitive spots that he had been sure were forgotten about. Iain bit back the low, satisfied moan threatening to fall from his lips. It wasn't that he didn't want to give his pineapple head the satisfaction of hearing his noises, more he didn't want anyone else to hear them. "Lars... Nnnn... Yeh damn bastard ah'm supposed to be working..." He grumbled with a shiver, pressing closer and tilting his head back to expose more of his neck, completely contradicting his words.

Lars left a dark, bruise colored hickie against the skin of Iain's otherwise flawless neck before he pulled back to speak. "I haven't been able to do this for over a year... I don't give a shit about what you're supposed to be doing." His voice was merely a rumble, leaving Iain to feel what he was saying as he was pressed against his chest instead of actually hearing it. It was then that Iain realized Lars' movements were desperate and needy, his eyes were bright with relief and wisps of clinging depression. So the Dutchman really had missed him...

A strange sense of satisfaction filled the Scotsman's heart and he leaned in to kiss him in an all around sweet way, not gentle, but affectionate and reassuring. "Ah know darlin'. At least take me home first. Ah d'nae want people to stare. Yeh are mine an' ah want to keep it that way." He stated firmly, a flare of possessive light flashing in his eyes at the very thought of someone else looking at his Lars for any reason. "Mine. Yeh understand?" He demanded, raising an eyebrow at the suddenly chuckling Dutchman pressing him into the wall.

"Of course. Possessive sweet heart? You're making me feel weak..." Lars teased and, despite his words, he scooped Iain up into his arms, swearing vehemently as the action pulled at his collarbone. When Iain tried to move out of his arms, he tightened his grip, biting back the more than uncomfortable sensations. "Don't move, you damn fire crotch!" He hissed, kidnapping his Scotsman from the slummy bar, traveling the well known path to the house he had stayed nearly every night before he had left. He pressed a kiss to Iain's forehead, keeping him pulled close to his chest, bridal style in his arms, almost as if he was afraid that if Iain wasn't in his arms that they'd fade from each other's lives again. He shuddered faintly and traces of loneliness wisped in his forest green eyes, heart not letting him believe he was truly back where he was supposed to be.

Of course, Lars couldn't hide what he was feeling from the grumbling red head in his arms. Iain caught onto Lars' thoughts almost as if they were his own, seeing the left over claws of depression and loneliness in his Dutchman's beautiful forest green eyes. With a sigh he carefully wrapped his arms around Lars' neck and pulled himself up to press their lips together in a much gentler than usual kiss, one that, had they not already indulged in rough kisses, wouldn't have left them with bruised and swollen lips. "Yer not allowed to go anywhere without me. Ah'm not leaving yeh... Yeh d'nae have to be alone Lars." Iain assured quietly, smiling faintly as they reached the door to his somewhat run down house. The cracked walls and chipped paint really was the last of his worries.

Lars nodded as he pushed open the door, unsurprised to find it unlocked. Iain never seemed to lock his door, not when he was home, not when he wasn't. Rolling his eyes he shut and locked the door behind them, receiving a smirk from Iain, though the Scotsman didn't comment on it. "Shit... I need to take a shower... You going to come with me sweet heart?" Lars stated, feeling grimy after traveling to get back to Iain. Forest green eyes were filled with mischief as he spoke and lips drew dangerously close to Iain's neck, his breath sending little shivers down the red head's spine.

"Ah can come with darlin'." Iain breathed, holding onto Lars a little tighter as they moved to the bathroom. He pressed kisses to the larger man's neck, smirking when he drew out a startled gasp and a handful of shivers from him. "Mmmm... Ah forgot how sensitive yer neck was." He teased softly, nipping at all the right place as Lars carried him into the bathroom and set him down on the counter. He smirked when the man ignored his comment, ideas churning in his devious mind. "Yer too sweet darlin'. Not even given me a chance to go weak in the knees with yeh carrying me." He teased, hopping from the counter and removing the overly large coat wrapped around his frame.

Steam slowly filled the room as Lars turned on the shower and the water heated up. Quickly he stripped himself of his clothing and stepped into the warm spray, flipping Iain off with a smirk as he did so. An involuntary little moan escaped his lips as the water pounded against his back, and as Iain joined him, his forest green eyes were hidden behind thin, membrane like eyelids, water hanging in heavy little dripplets from his pale eyelashes. It gave Iain the strangest impression of purity. Of course Lars was far from pure or innocent, he knew him in every way possible all too well for that, but aside from the Dutchman's rough and ragged exterior... With him just standing there like that, eyes closed and head tilted back just so, tension and depression rolling out and off of him like the water that rained down on them, Iain couldn't get the image of something broken being pieced back together out of his head. The strangest feeling of gentleness welled inside of him and he wrapped his arms around Lars, placing his quickly dampening head against his Dutchman's water slicked chest. "Yeh look sexy standing there like that darlin'." He whispered quietly, tracing the planes of Lars' stomach with a soft finger, his voice holding that strange gentleness in it.

Soft lips pressed against Iain's neck while arms came to wrap around his waist, pulling him ever closer. "I try to be, sweet heart." Lars' whispering voice sounded right next to Iain's ear, a quiet rumble that sent a little shiver down the Scotsman's spine. Those same lips that created the sounds of speech ghosted across Iain's neck in mostly familiar ways, nipping lightly and sucking occasionally, leaving behind a myriad of love marks. As a quiet, deep rooted moan bubbled through Iain's lips, Lars moved his loving, ravaging mouth to his red head's protruding collarbones, and left marks on them as well as all across his shoulders, working slowly to draw out the most sounds from Scottish lips.

Though they never admitted it to each other, when one of them tried to hold back their sounds, it drove the other into a desperate need to draw the noises into the open. Sometimes they made it into a game of sorts, but right now when they both were rather battered from their prolonged separation, every sensation, every sound, every movement was completely cherished, never going unnoticed. Unspoken messages passed between them as Iain's lips moved to meet Lars' drawing them away from his body in favor of exchanging saliva in kisses that slowly grew deeper, more sensual, more passionate.

Lars' hands soon found Iain's hips, holding him closer and rubbing circles on the inside of the little rises with his thumbs while his tongue slid inside Iain's mouth, mapping out the warm cavern and rubbing up against the tongue that already resided there with a very low moan, a moan that bordered on a vibration rather than a tangible sound. Very carefully Iain brought both hands up to tangle in the water logged locks of blonde hair, looking a dark chestnut with the moister, at the base of Lar's skull. He paused when Lars' entire frame tensed up at the sudden burst of pain as his Scotsman's bare arm brushed against the sickly looking skin over his clavicle that hid the damaged bone, but when the Dutchman began to kiss him again and continued exploring his mouth, he kept up playing with the little hairs, moaning softly around the tongue in his mouth. Soft little shivers ran through them both as their heart beats kicked up, beating rapidly in sync, as if the same heart drove both of their frenzied bodies. Subconsciously they rubbed up against each other as pressure built inside their stomachs and vital regions, trying to find a way to relieve the tight, uncomfortable feeling. After a few minutes of pointless rubbing against each other, Lars moved one of his hands down off of Iain's hip and ran his warm fingertips along the throbbing, half erect appendage of his Scotsman, as if to tease him, but then wrapped his hand along the shaft and pumped it slowly, not wanting to indulge in their usual games, just wanting to make Iain feel good. He smiled faintly as Iain opened is mouth in surprise, breath hitching in a little breathy moan of pleasure. An almost imperceptible whimper fell from his lips as he forced his hips from bucking into his Dutchman's hand. "Lars..." He breathed, hands stilling in the blonde's hair.

Lars pumped him a little faster, heart a fluttering caged bird in his chest as his name fell from Iain's lips, sounding so lustful and needy he was very tempted to take him there in the shower, the only thing stopping him from doing so was his broken collarbone. The desire to press deep inside of the most intimate places of his Iain burned through every fiber of his being as he felt lips and teeth and tongue against his over sensitive neck. It was his ultimate turn on and if anyone knew his weak spots it was Iain. Little bursts of pleasure shot through him in the form of shivers as teeth needled at one of his more sensitive spots. Suddenly it didn't matter he had a broken collarbone as Iain's lips tormented him, he pumped his red head faster, soft, low moans rolling like a thunderstorm through his chest, occasionally breaking past his lips. "Nnng... Iain... Iain what about... mmmnnn... Ha-aaah" He gave up trying to speak in a little gasp as Iain bit down harder on his neck, a little grumble of protest rolling through him.

"Ah need yeh Lars..." Iain admitted, bucking his hips a little as Lars' hands began to slow. "God yeh damn bastard... Ah need yeh..." He all but begged, lips hovering just above Lars' neck. "Please... Yeh don't have to be rough... Ah just... Yeh've been gone... An'..." He was silenced by begrudging lips against his own, Lars' silent consent, and his heart swelled with love and guilt that his Dutchman was agreeing even though he was hurt. A little thrill shot through him as he braced himself against the wall, leaning against his forearms, not wanting to waste any time. He craved the feeling of being loved and filled by his Lars. Had since the day he left. He was met quickly with Lars' hands on his hips and teasing kisses to the back of his neck.

"A little horny sweet heart?" He whispered softly, getting creative and taking a bottle of conditioner in his hands. He was not about to push into Iain dry, no matter how eager he was. At least the slippery substance wasn't cold... He spread the conditioner around his appendage as evenly as he could manage and lined himself up with Iain's entrance, chuckling softly at the eager little quiver that the man had fallen into. He held onto Iain's hips a litter tighter, doing his best to ignore the twinges of pain that shot across his broken bone, before pressing inside slowly, an involuntary moan falling from his lips in time with one of equal pain tinged pleasure that rose from Iain's throat.

It took longer for Iain to adjust than he had remembered it usually taking, but he figured most of that accounted to the fact he hadn't prepped Iain before hand, simply skipping straight to burying himself deep inside of him. Occasionally Iain would shudder and pant quietly, too stubborn to tell Lars to stop, though the Dutchman would stop anyway and wait until he was sure the Scotsman could handle him moving again. Even still, once he was fully seated inside of his red headed lover, muscle clenching deliciously around his throbbing member, he didn't move until Iain looked back at him over his shoulder with a smirk. "Yeh just... going to stand there darlin'?" He taunted, eyes grateful despite his teasing. Lars was always careful to never hurt him.

"Just waiting for you sweet heart." Lars said quietly, a smile on his lips. Slowly he rocked out of Iain and then back into him, going very very slow, and even still he could feel little pained sparks from the movement. With a grumble he let go of Iain's hips with the hand on the same side as his broken collarbone and awkwardly wrapped his good arm around Iain's waist to compensate. He took a minute to get situated again before continuing to rock in and out, stifling a rather low, loud moan with a nip to Iain's alabaster shoulder blade. The little nip took Iain by surprise, that much was clear with the little whine that fell from his lips, but he jerked back into Lars hitting him in the chest in the process and causing Lars to cry out in pain and spring back with a million different curses on his lips, pulling completely out of his Iain. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck ow!" He growled, eyes watering. He pressed his back against the wall of the shower, trying very hard not to move as a wave of nausea took hold of him.

"Aw shit... Lars ah'm sorry! Are yeh alright?" Iain sighed, feeling sick with guilt at how disappointed he was at the loss of the fullness in his tight heat. With a sigh he moved to Lars' side, gently feathering his finger tips across the nasty looking, bruised skin. "Ah shouldn't have hit yeh so hard..." His words had been regretful and apologetic, and yet Lars just laughed tightly, and looked down at Iain, eyes both glazed with pain and shining in amusement.

Still laughing softly, Lars reached over and turned off the water. They had been in there for... Who knew how long. With a sigh at the almost hidden disappointment in Iain's eyes he wrapped his good arm around the man's skinny waist. "I'm fine. But..." He stopped, uncertainty in his eyes. He shivered a bit, not sure if he'd be able to go through with what he was about to suggest. After all, he never had done well not being in control because of other peoples' actions. When he smoked, he was fine... Because he was the one telling himself to smoke. When it came to others telling him what to do, he didn't respond well. That was why he topped regardless of how much it bugged Iain, or at least used to bug him.

His words pricked Iain's curiosity and he drew back just enough to look up at Lars, bright jade eyes questioning. "But...? Whit's on yer mind darlin'?" He asked, sounding tired now that the mood was efficiently killed. Instead of answering him, Lars moved out of the shower, letting Iain go and drying off with a towel that may or may not have been used. Still not bothering to answer, or dress for that matter, he left the bathroom and flopped onto Iain's bed, eliciting a violent curse when it sent another shockwave of pain through him. Completely confused, Iain followed after him, not even bothering to dry off in his haste to follow after his suddenly very odd acting Dutchman. "Lars...?"

"But..." Lars swallowed hard, and closed his eyes, knowing he was just going to have to spit it out before he changed his mind. "Since I've been gone so long and am injured you can top." He muttered in a rush, opening his eyes to fix them on a very startled Scotsman. He raised his eyebrow when the red head looked skeptical and actually managed a smirk. He could do this because it was Iain. He owed him. "I'm serious..." He added, sighing softly when Iain moved almost hesitantly on top of him. "You're just going to have to figure out how to fuck me while I'm facing you. I doubt I'd be able to stay with my chest pressed against the bed for very long."

Iain honestly couldn't believe what Lars was offering, knowing damn well how stressed and tense he'd get under any situation he wasn't given the option to control. "Nae... Ah won't make yeh do anything yeh aren't comfortable with. Ah've gone this long without yeh... Ah can wait a li-" He was cut off by a pair of impatient lips against his own as Lars worked to kiss away his worries. After all, had he not been serious, he wouldn't have offered. Slowly Iain relaxed against Lars, this time completely staying away from the man's injury as he almost shyly slid his tongue inside Lars' mouth. It wasn't that he had never topped... It was that he had never topped a guy. As surprised as his brother had been when he found out he was with Lars, his own surprise blew it away. Never once had he thought he was gay... He'd never had the option because he'd only ever been with the blonde. To his surprise though, Lars was extremely patient, sliding his tongue against Iain's to draw the slippery muscle farther into his mouth.

Lars ran his hand across Iain's back as they shared quiet, stifled moans and when he felt his Scotsman's throbbing member rubbing against him as they kissed, he held back an almost nervous shudder. Before he could back out of this, he took Iain's hand while they continued kissing and brought it to his rump, a silent command. A command in which Iain started to follow. He took one finger and prodded Lars' tight entrance, smiling faintly when he felt Lars shiver and his breath hitched in his throat. It was when he started to push the finger inside of him that he froze. Lars had tensed up. "It's ok." Lars had to assure before the red head continued, wiggling the slender finger around like he remembered the blonde doing multiple times before.

This was different. This was almost too weird to follow through with. He could feel Lars relaxing around his finger, but he didn't know if it was ok to add a second finger or not. When he did and his Dutchman hissed in pain he froze with an apology on his lip when the man caught his lips again before he could say anything. "It's because they're dry. Stop freezing up sweet heart, I'm fine." He assured again, really the faint burning sensation didn't hold a candle to his angrily throbbing clavicle. When Iain started to scissor him uncertainly he kept as relaxed as he could, the burning growing more uncomfortable as he was stretched, but when Iain's third finger followed suit, he was hard pressed not to shudder from the strangely full feeling. "You're alright." He rumbled quietly, amused by Iain's hesitance. Honestly he felt like he was a piece of fine china that the Scotsman was terrified of breaking.

Pale fingers thrust in and out of Lars' entrance, stretching him until the skinny, muscled red head thought he was good. With an uncertain sigh he looked down at Lars, jade eyes holding questions and concern even with how sure and reassuring the forest green eyes looking up at him were. "Lars are yeh sure?" Iain asked quietly, ducking away from insistent lips for a moment to actually have the chance to finish his question." "Ah d'nae want to if it's going to stress yeh out darlin'." He assured quietly, pressing a kiss to the Dutchman's shoulder.

Lars smiled faintly, a quiet moan on his lips when he felt Iain's fingers press deep inside of him. "I'm sure sweet heart... I wouldn't have offered if I hadn't meant it." He breathed, shivering when Iain withdrew his fingers and hesitantly lined himself up with Lars' entrance. The Dutchman tensed when Iain started to press in, unable to hold back the hiss of painful discomfort. "Lube?" He questioned in a tight voice, as patient as ever despite the ache coming from his ass.

Feeling stupid, Iain bent over Lars, pulling out what little of his twitching, throbbing member had made it inside of Lars and pulled open the draw to the bedside table, retrieving a bottle of lube. "Ah'm sorry." He muttered, a bit embarrassed at the mistake, something Lars found immensely funny even if it had been at his expense. Iain grumbled something bitterly at the amusement in his Dutchman's eyes as he spread the cold, almost gelatinous fluid around his appendage and threw the bottle carelessly to the floor before lining himself back up with Lars' hole. Apprehensive to causing Lars pain again, he pushed in slowly, finding it much easier with the aid of the slippery substance.

The filling of muscles constricting him from all sides was so... amazing. It felt incredibly good, more so than Iain would have thought possible and he couldn't help but rock just a little bit as a strangled moan fell from his lips. Sparks of pleasure rolled through him, and he desperately wanted to pull out and feel the pleasurable zings when he moved, but in the back of his mind he remembered how patient and careful Lars always was with him. Sighing, he waited for Lars to tell him it was ok to move.

That ok came sooner than Iain had thought when Lars raised an eyebrow at him, taking in the flushed looks of intense satisfaction on his Scotsman's face. "You going to move any time soon sweet heart, or just stay there?" He asked quietly, not quite sure he cared for the overly full feeling of Iain deep inside of him. It wasn't that it was painful anymore, his muscles were actually clenching around the obstruction inside of him, not wanting to let it go, it just felt strange. When Iain rocked out of him and pushed back in, he shivered, feeling his face flush. "You can go faster... If you want..."

Iain didn't need to be told twice. His heart swelled with happiness that Lars was trusting him enough to let him do this as he pulled out and thrust in a little harder, another moan spilling from his lips. For a moment he was so enveloped in the amazing feelings coursing through him that he closed his eyes, head bowed and mouth opened while slender, creamy hips snapped forward, driving himself deep into such deliciously tight heat he felt like he might cry out. It was in the middle of this revelation that he heard Lars groan loudly, eyes clenched shut and his face screwed up in a beautiful display of pleasure, his pale lips hanging open in a silent cry, cheeks a dusty rose color and a tremor rolling through him. He'd found it.

Lars couldn't help the gasping groan that pierced the air as every nerve ending came alive with fiery, intense pleasure. It was everywhere at once for a brief minute, in his suddenly thrown back head and his open mouth, his clenched eyes and his balled fists, his tensed abdomen and trembling muscles. His brain switched into over load, not knowing how to comprehend the onslaught of feeling, and as quick as it had come it was gone, leaving him to pant and crave the feeling again. He suddenly understood why Iain would get to a point where he'd beg for him to go faster and harder, even if it would leave him sore and with a bit of a limp in the morning; he was having trouble after just one thrust to that bundle of nerves buried deep inside like a little present of intense, sexually induced pleasure. Another groan, this one louder and deeper, escaped him as another shockwave of pleasure shot through with a harder thrust.

Very very quickly they were just a whir of thrusts and trembles and clenching muscles. Their voices rose in moans and whimpers, groans and ragged screams. Iain couldn't get past the constant feeling of pleasure with every tiny little movement, and Lars could barely stand the intense bursts of it with each intrusion into his tight heat and pound against his prostrate, but they both cherished the feelings as pleasured noises turned into ones of pure desperation as heat pooled low in their stomachs, fiery hot and intense, feeling so tight and hot that the feeling would burn right through them. Iain couldn't get over how much Lars loved him for letting him do this, and Lars couldn't believe how good Iain was, good enough to make him forget his apprehensions on bottoming; not enough to consider giving it up, but enough to allow himself to indulge in the current, passionate exchanges.

It was crazy how in time the were with each other, a year of being apart and their positions flipped for the first time ever not affecting the way time slowed simultaneously for each of them, hair now damp with sweat for both men, eyes glazed with equal displays of desperation in the fast coming release. On Iain's part he could feel every miniscule bit of his engorged appendage as it slid deep inside of his Dutchman, alive with a sudden all around overload of feelings, completely over stimulated with just how good everything felt. His stomach clenched tight and he threw his head back as he went over the edge, white and black star bursts flashing across his vision as he came harder than he thought possible inside of Lars, a loud cry on his lips as he called out Lars' name, the word mixing with an equally loud, loving 'Iain!' as Lars was pushed over the edge at the same time, in a reaction all too similar to the Scotsman's.

Iain was very careful in the way he collapsed against Lars' sweat and cum slicked chest, steering clear of his collarbone, a tired, but deeply satisfied smile on his face as he pressed a few soft kisses to the Dutchman's neck. "Ah... That... Thank yeh Lars..." He whispered softly, slipping out of him and curling up against his chest. His sweat and water dampened hair came to rest against Lars' chest and he hummed in content as the man wrapped an arm around his cooling waste. "Ah love yeh Lars..."

Soft lips pressed against the Scotsman's red haired head and a chuckle rumbled through him. "I love you too... I'm sorry I left..." He whispered, his world, so empty for the year he had left, finally realigning it's self as they laid there in bed, pleasantly spent. "But I promise... I will never leave you again."

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**So please let me know all of your opinions. If you hate the pairing or the story, please let me know. If you enjoyed it, please let me know. And thus NedScot was born. :) **


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